Iarfhlaith
by Tehri
Summary: Arthur has always had trouble dealing with Alfred since the revolution, but luckily he's had his brothers to help him when it gets too rough. But one day, the Brit does something that scares Alfred half to death...


_**Before I start, I have things to say. :P This was, first of all, born from a very depressing dream of mine. Second, it was born because of my old obsession and love for the gorgeous Gaelic language. xD Anyway. I shall now translate some phrases and different words.**_

**Cúchulainn** _- A hero in an old Irish legend, the name means "Hound of Culann"._

**Foghlaidh** _- An Irish Gaelic byname that means "pirate" or "plunderer"._

**Iarfhlaith** _- An Irish Gaelic name that means "lord of the west". Here, you can say that I use it almost as a title. xD_

**Deartháir Cúchulainn, lig leis!** _- Brother Cúchulainn, let go! (I'm actually not certain about if this is correct, but if any of you speak Gaelic, please do correct me xD)_

**Tá brón orm** _- I'm sorry._

**Trwy ras Duw** _- By God's grace. (This is Welsh. xD I had to.)_

**Alba** _- Gaelic for Scotland._

* * *

Arthur would not walk away from the harbour. He just sat there on a large barrel and stared out into nothing. At times, his gaze would flutter to the ship he had just arrived with, as if contemplating if he should get back on board and demand that they return. But no, that would not do... He stared out into nothing again. How had things gone so horribly wrong? _Why_ had all this happened? He tried to work out the reasons for himself, but there was only one thing he could think of in his current state of absolute misery.

_He hates me. He hates me. He hates me._

The boy he had raised was long since gone; Arthur had not even gotten the chance to see him grow into a teenager, since he had been gone during that time. When he had returned as he had promised, the boy was taller than him, looked _down_ on him and smiled. He remembered that throughout the confusion of that moment, he had felt insanely proud. The "boy" stood tall and proud and smiled at him, his eyes gazing almost adoringly at his now former protector. But that was then. Now, the boy had taken up arms against him. Now, everything was lost. Arthur had lost. _England_ had lost.

_He hates me. He hates me. He hates me._

He had surrendered. Not because the boy was stronger; no, he was far from that. It was not because of weakness. It was not because he had never wished for this war. It was not because he knew it was useless. He had not surrendered because he hadn't been able to take the boy's life. No, it was not because of that. He hadn't been able to shoot because even in the midst of a war, when that boy held his musket aimed at him, when that boy attempted to shoot him, he had till felt nothing but love and pride. Love for a child that now fought against him. Pride over that he had been the one to teach the boy to fight. And now, it was all gone. He would never get to gaze into those eyes again; he would never get to help him again. The boy had left him, left the sole person in the world that actually cared enough to protect him, give him a language, and give him a home...

_He hates me... He hates me..._

"Arthur...?"

A familiar voice pierced through his thoughts, and he turned his head slowly, his emerald eyes gazing at a tall man with curly red hair and a freckled face. Similar eyes looked back at him, surprise evident in them.

"What in the name of King Lir are you doing here", the man asked as he walked over to him. "You arrived hours ago, didn't you? It's almost night-time and you're still out in the cold! That's a surprise!"

Arthur didn't say anything at first, merely watched. He knew this man. Yes, of course he knew him. His brother to the west.

"Cúchulainn", he mumbled.

"It's Seamus nowadays, kiddo", replied the man with a chuckle. "Seamus Finnegan, and you'd best remember that, little _Foghlaidh_. People wouldn't understand, otherwise."

Arthur attempted a weak smile at the familiar nickname; his brother had given that to him when he was a pirate, which was exactly what it meant. Pirate, plunderer. He faltered in his attempt to smile. Pirate. Plunderer. Murderer. Thief. He shivered slightly, only to feel his brother wrap an arm around him.

"Get up, kiddo", said Seamus. "We need to get you home. You're lucky I'm not drunk right now, or I'd probably be wandering away already."

Arthur didn't move. He had never thought of how fitting that nickname was. Pirate, plunderer. That was all he was. A thief and a murderer. A possessive one, at that. And now, the pirate had been beaten down, stomped on. Something wet trickled down his cheek and Seamus let out a loud exclamation.

"What the... Arthur, why the heck are you crying?! Oi! Stop it! Stop crying, I say! You're freaking me out!"

Arthur shivered violently.

"_Iarfhlaith_", he whispered hoarsely, remembering a little of that precious old language he had not uttered a word in for years. "Gone... _Iarfhlaith_ is gone..."

"Don't be stupid, Arthur", muttered Seamus. "_You_ are the "lord of the west", and you're right in front of me. You're not gone."

"Gone... Gone... He's _gone_... It's not me, not anymore..." Arthur looked up at his brother again, a weak smile forming on his lips as the tears continued to stream. "There is another _Iarfhlaith_ now, another "lord of the west"... And he is gone... I let him go... I couldn't hold him back, he broke through all defences, and I had to... I had to let him go, Seamus... And I had to let go of that name, let go of _Iarfhlaith_..."

His brother's strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him up on his feet.

"Let's get you home", muttered the Irish man. "Gods, Merfyn and Angus are going to murder me if they think I made you cry..."

_*^*_

Almost three years had gone since Arthur returned home, and since then he had attempted not to show himself in public. He kept himself locked away in his home, unseen by everyone except his brothers. Despite the fact that these men had treated him harshly in the past and always taunted him, they were family. Nothing in the world could make Arthur deny that, even if he often felt like he hated them. But when they were there to check on him, he would not speak or even look at them. It was as if he wasn't even aware of their presence. During these years, Arthur had changed significantly; not only because he didn't seem to notice anyone anymore and just kept to himself. He had changed in his appearance as well. For one, his hair had gotten much longer; it was not unkempt as it was when he had tried to grow it out as a little boy, all thanks to the Welshman Merfyn who stubbornly made sure to wash and brush his hair whenever he came by (almost every day). He knew all too well about how troublesome it was, mostly because he not only looked like Arthur, he had the same unruly hair. Angus, the Scotsman (who also looked a lot like Arthur, except for that his hair was just as red as Seamus' was), had not been around even though he knew that something was wrong. He was fairly certain of that the boy would snap back to reality sooner or later without their help. But when three whole years had gone, all three brothers showed up at Arthur's house.

"Arthur?" Merfyn frowned a little and looked around. "Arthur, are you home?"

"He won't answer", said Seamus with a sigh. "He hasn't replied for three years, why would he do it now?"

Angus snorted and headed up the stairs.

"Arthur", he bellowed in his thick Scottish accent. "I know ye're up 'ere, ya wanker!"

His brothers glanced exasperatedly at each other and then ran after the big oaf who had now entered their little brother's bedroom. And sure enough, there was Arthur, sitting by his window and staring out at nothing in particular. His bed hadn't been slept in, and the meal that Merfyn had brought up the previous day had not been touched. The Welshman made a noise of discontent.

"You haven't eaten anything", he said with a deep sigh as he walked over to the nightstand to check the tray. "You need to get something into you, Arthur, you know that."

He got no reply, as usual. Not even a glance that confirmed that the younger man was listening... Seamus carefully snuck over to his little brother and patted his shoulder.

"Oi, Artie", he said softly. "We all went through the trouble to come and see you. Look, even Angus is here. Can't you at least look at us...?"

No reaction. Seamus glanced at Angus with a face that said "I'm losing hope here, help me". But Angus merely watched the young blonde by the window, a frown grazing his face. It seemed like he was trying to think of what was going on.

"He's been like this ever since he came home", said Merfyn with a groan. "_Three years_, Angus. I'm starting to think that he won't ever snap out of it. I mean, we all know that the brat declared Independence, but we don't know why the hell Arthur is so broken down."

Angus muttered something and walked over to the boy, shoving Seamus out of the way.

"Listen 'ere, Arthur", he growled. "If ye don' man up an' _look at me_, I ain't going to let England remain. Ye hear me? I'll raise an army against ye if I need t' do it!"

Finally, some reaction; it was just a faint twitch, a slight indication to that Arthur had been about to smile at the comment. But it was _something_, and it meant that he could hear them clearly. Angus grabbed the chair and spun it around, staring into his little brother's eyes.

"Now, ye're gonna tell me 'xactly what's 'appened", he said. "And ye're gonna do it _now_. I'm sick an' tired o' having these two wankers runnin' around an' trying t' get me t' come 'ere!"

Slowly, Arthur looked back at Angus, really looked back. But it was not that usual look of anger and disgust that rested in his emerald eyes, but rather a look of deep sadness. He didn't speak, still, but just held Angus's gaze for a while. Then, his brother sighed deeply and broke the contact.

"Ye're an idiot", said the Scotsman gently. "Ye couldnae tell us earlier? Instead o' lettin' us worry t' death? I've been worried sick 'bout ye."

Arthur slowly opened his mouth; he hadn't spoken for so long (at least not when anyone else was around), so his voice was a bit hoarse, and it was hard to form words. But finally, he managed to get something out.

"_Iarfhlaith_", he whispered. "E-everyone... everyone sees him... They all... They all see that he is... strong... He doesn't... need me... _Iarfhlaith_ doesn't... need me... He hates me... He hates me..."

A smile started to spread on his lips, but there was no emotion in it. His eyes were void of all emotions except grief. But Angus did not say anything; instead, he merely watched his little brother and waited to see if there was more.

"I gave him so much..." Arthur sounded almost as if he was choking on his own voice. "I gave him... I gave him a language... A... A home... I fed him; I gave him clothes to wear... I did so much... A-and now... Now he hates me... He pushed me away..."

The blonde Brit shivered violently as the tears began to fall. He wasn't certain about why he was telling his brothers this; it wasn't as if they had been there for him when he grew up, it wasn't as if they cared. But a few seconds later, he felt how strong arms pulled him into a warm embrace, and the strong scent of whiskey wrapped around him. A hand trailed through his blonde hair, surprisingly gentle.

"It's alright, little brother", whispered Angus softly. "It's alright. Ye need this, I know. So just let it out."

Arthur blinked, but he did not attempt to move away. Instead, he leaned into the embrace and sighed deeply before a loud sob escaped his lips. After merely a moment, Seamus and Merfyn stepped over to them and put their arms around their brother as well. He needed comfort now, he needed someone to be close to him and help him. They were his brothers, and yet they had never given him the love he deserved before... But now, they were there for him, and they were going to stay. For the first time in his life, Arthur actually needed his brothers, and they would be there.

"'t ain't yer fault, little brother..."

* * *

The years had gone, and Alfred had grown to be a very powerful nation, although almost sinfully obnoxious according to many. But he was a power to reckon with, which became rather evident during the Second World War. His fury at that time was frightening, especially when he finally got some "payback" for Japan's attack against Pearl Harbour. The result was absolutely terrifying, but few dared to mention anything about it. Arthur was one of those who _did_ mention it; in fact, he yelled and shouted obscenities at the younger nation, called him names that most likely had their happy days during his years as a pirate. It was an interesting show, and when Alfred began to yell back it got even better. He claimed that Arthur didn't understand anything of what had happened, that he had been forced to do it for the sake of his people. And Arthur had glared at him with his eyes burning like infernos and told him that he just didn't know when to stop, that he had no idea when he had gone too far.

"Wanting people to fear you is not exactly a _hero's_ way, is it, America", he had yelled. "That was all it was about, wasn't it?! You wanted Japan to be afraid of you; you wanted the world to see that you could hurt them just as easily as you hurt him! You have no idea when it's time to stop, you obnoxious git, you rush into situations without even bothering to check anything else than your target! How do you think the world reacted to this?! How do you think _humans_ reacted?! Japan was an enemy, yes, but that does not mean that people don't feel sympathy when _two whole cities filled with people are blown to bits_! You're such a bloody moron!"

Alfred had been seething when Arthur finally stopped yelling and instead walked past him, briskly informing him that he did not wish to see him or hear from him for a long time, despite the fact that they were supposed to be allied and friends. When they had finally met again, Alfred acted as if nothing had ever happened, and Arthur began to wonder if Alfred had ever been bothered by anything. Most likely, he had not. And it made the older nation furious, although he did not show it.

Alfred was, all things considered, maybe not quite as stupid as he appeared. But the day he unexpectedly showed up on Arthur's doorstep in order to drag his old protector out for a walk or something along those lines and the door was opened by a strange man with red curly hair and freckles all over his face, he naturally said the first thing that came to his mind.

"... Woah, you changed, Arthur."

The man stared at him, with the exact same eyes; even the eyebrows were similar, although of course red.

"... I'm not Arthur", he said then, a smile beginning to form on his lips. "Name's Seamus. Nice to meet you, lad. Now, are you in a hurry to talk to my little brother, or can it wait? He's in the shower, you see."

Alfred stared. The accent was decidedly very different from Arthur's, and... Did this guy just say that Arthur was his little brother?

"Uhm", he said carefully. "It... It can wait, I guess... Can I come in...?"

Seamus stepped to the side with a grin, quickly closing the door behind the American.

"You're America, aren't you", he said and peered curiously at the younger man as he took off his bomber jacket. "Arthur said you were easy to recognise, and you're rude and obnoxious and don't think before you speak."

Alfred blinked, and then he smiled vaguely.

"Ah, yes, I'm America", he said. "Uh... What exactly has Arthur been telling you? Because I was just surprised when you opened the door, I didn't think anyone else would be here..."

The strange man laughed and patted his shoulder.

"Surprisingly enough", he said, "Arthur has older brothers. Three, actually. But Merfyn and I are the only of us who actually come here to visit Arthur every now and then." And at the American's questioning glance, he added: "Merfyn is Wales. I'm Ireland."

"Oh..."

Alfred had always been fairly aware of that he probably had "uncles"; after all, Arthur had mentioned something about it once or twice (and of course he had seen Seamus before, but he just hadn't paid enough attention to remember that there was a country by the name of Ireland). But he had never known exactly who they were, and he had never imagined that they'd... _look_ like Arthur... Okay, maybe this Seamus-guy didn't look _exactly_ like him, but the Irish man's eyes were probably just one single shade brighter, and his face and nose had the same shape (although it looked like Seamus had been in a few brawls and broken it at times). Personality-wise, there seemed to be _very_ little in common. Where Arthur always appeared grumpy and annoyed, Seamus seemed friendly and happy.

"By the way, don't sit in the armchair with the blanket in the lounge, there's a leprechaun there."

.... Alright. So he was _crazy_ like Arthur. Alfred glanced around curiously when he entered the lounge; of course, he had been there before, but it had been a while now. With a slight smile, he avoided the armchair and sat down in the sofa instead. He had always liked this spot; in fact, it was the most comfortable spot on the entire sofa, which made him rather reluctant to lie down like he did at home. It had taken him a lot of time to find the spot at all, and he had often tried to find a comfortable place when Arthur was sitting next to him; which had led to that the older nation tried to push him off the sofa.

"Want something to drink, kiddo?" Seamus leaned over the back of the sofa and grinned. "Or are you satisfied with just waiting for Arthur? He might take a while, you know."

Alfred just smiled a little and shook his head, not wanting to bother the man. And sure enough, after almost half an hour, Arthur came down the stairs.

"Seamus", he called. "Who was at the door?"

The redhead laughed.

"A colleague of yours, _Foghlaidh_", he replied. "He's in the lounge, if you wonder. Oh, and watch the blanket armchair!"

"Leprechaun. I know."

The Brit stepped into the lounge, surprisingly enough dressed in nothing else than a pair of trousers and carrying his shirt on his arm. He ran his fingers through his still rather damp hair and sighed quietly before glancing at the sofa and blushing heavily when he noticed how the American stared at him.

"What the bloody hell do _you_ want?!" It was absolutely meant to be a snarl. "Why are you in my house?! Seamus, why did you let him in?!"

The redhead raised an eyebrow as he sauntered past the room.

"Because you said that you'd be taking a shower and wanted me to answer either phone or door and throw the Frog out if he decided to pay a visit through the window again", he said and took a swig from the whiskey bottle he carried. "You never said I wasn't allowed to let someone in."

Arthur muttered in defeat and glared at Alfred again, who still hadn't looked away.

"What are you staring at, you idiot?!"

Immediately, the blue eyes snapped back up to the Englishman's face.

"Ah..." Alfred laughed nervously. "I just wanted to see you... And... Well, apologise..."

Arthur still looked rather angry and suspicious, but he walked past the sofa (carefully sneaking around the previously mentioned armchair, as if he worried that something might kick him) while putting on his shirt and sat down in his favourite brown armchair near the window, his emerald eyes not once leaving the American.

"Apologise about what", he asked with a frown. "Hm? Just spit it out, and then get out of my house."

Alfred couldn't help but smile at the hostile behaviour of the older man; it was uncalled for, as always, but it was the way Arthur had been for so long now.

"I wanted to apologise about the last meeting", he said and tilted his head, watching as the Brit buttoned up his shirt. "I behaved like an idiot, I know... And most of the comments I threw at you were much uncalled for." He smiled goofily at the glare he got. "Yes, most of them. Seriously, you have to accept that your cooking absolutely sucks ass. Can't you just accept those lessons that France always offer you?"

The Englishman's eyes flashed dangerously, and he reached for the closest thing at hand to throw at the younger nation.

"Out", he growled. "If you came here only to insult my cooking, then get the hell out."

Seamus poked in his head through the door again.

"What's this about insulting your cooking, Arthur", he asked curiously. "I mean, I can't say it's _Oh, this must be heaven_-good, but it's at least not whatever the hell it is that _Angus_ makes."

Arthur glared at his brother, who immediately held up his hands in a mock surrender and retreated to whatever hideout he could find. Alfred merely laughed.

"See, not even your brother likes it", he grinned. "Just accept it, will you? I mean, France could actually teach you to cook normally, and yet you keep refusing!"

This time Arthur did throw the closest thing at hand; an empty whiskey-glass, which Alfred dodged expertly without even letting his grin waver the slightest bit. He had been very well aware of that this would happen. It always did when he said something bad about this man's cooking (which admittedly _did_ suck), so maybe he did have it coming. What he hadn't expected, though, was that the man would get up and walk over to him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to his feet before punching him in the stomach hard enough to make him double over and gasp for air.

"I thought I told you to get out", hissed the Englishman. "Didn't I? Or did I imagine myself saying it? You're not deaf, America, I should know that by now. So get the _hell_ out of my bloody house!"

Alfred attempted to stand, but found himself stumbling forward towards Arthur, who blinked and instinctively tried to move. However, the American grabbed him for some support and mere seconds later they crashed down on the floor together. Arthur gasped loudly as he hit the floor with his back, only to feel a very heavy American crash down on him immediately after and knock the air out of his lungs. Alfred groaned loudly, but made no attempt to move until Arthur repeatedly smacked him on the back of his head while wheezing "off, off!" over and over again. Slowly, Alfred pushed himself up on his arms, and looked down at the older nation who now took deep breaths. He stared, only to find those gorgeous emerald eyes stare back at him moments later. Neither of them said a word, not until a very loud exclamation came from the doorway and a furious Irish redhead burst into the room and grabbed a hold of the American's collar to pull him off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing", Seamus hollered. "What the hell, man?! Get the hell off of my little brother, or I'll smash your skull against the table! I swear, I'll do it! I've done it before, and despite the fucking mess, I'll do it again! You hear me?!"

Alfred blinked and stared at the Irishman in shock, trying to take in the words that were shouted; Seamus accent ran deep, and it was difficult to understand. But soon, a more familiar accent pierced through the shouting.

"Seamus, stop it!" Arthur had gotten to his feet and now pulled at his brother's arm. "Please, stop it! It was my own fault anyway; he didn't mean to do anything! He just fell over, it's not his fault! Seamus, stop!" The Brit's eyes flashed as Seamus lifted his fist to hit the American, who could only lift his hands to try to stop it from hitting his face. "_Deartháir Cúchulainn, lig leis_!"

As suddenly as it had started, it was over. Seamus had let go of Alfred's collar and now stepped back, letting the American slide down on his knees. Arthur watched his brother warily before stepping over to help Alfred up. The Irishman watched them, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"_Tá brón orm_", he whispered hoarsely. "Shouldn't have... reacted that way..."

Alfred bit his lip as he slowly got to his feet, noticing that the gaze directed to him from Seamus bore no indication of regret. It seemed, however, as if Arthur did not notice anything about it.

"Please, America", said the Englishman quietly. "Please... I think it is time for you to go."

And soon, Alfred found himself walking down the street with his head hanging in shame, wishing he had never mentioned the Brit's cooking. And wondering about Seamus' violent reaction. Surely there was no need for violence for that little thing? And... Arthur had seemed scared when he had realised what his brother was about to do.

"I'll never get him", he muttered to himself. "One moment he punches me, the next he saves me when his crazy brother tries to punch me... What's with him...?"

* * *

The fourth of July was coming up quickly, and Alfred was as usual busy with writing and sending out invitations to all of his friends (meaning, every nation he could think of), including Arthur. He was in a surprisingly cheery mood, unusually happy, in fact. True, it was his birthday, but he had never been quite so... giddy before.

"There is _no way_ Arthur can say no to this", he said to himself with a laugh. "And if he says he'll stay at home, I'll go there and drag him back here anyway. He _must_ come here this year!"

But as the RSVP's began to roll in, he kept wondering why Arthur wasn't trying to reach him. Hell, even _Sweden_ had responded already, so it couldn't be that Arthur hadn't gotten the invitation yet.

"He'll certainly call me soon", he told himself. "For sure. He wouldn't miss this."

But when the fourth of July came and everyone arrived for the party, Arthur had still not called, and he didn't show up at all.

Some way into the party (sometime around when Francis had cornered Matthew and was whispering lewd things in his ear while Yao ran past them in his attempts to escape from Ivan), Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He sat down on the couch and picked up his phone, quickly dialling an all too familiar number. He decided to put the speaker unit on, just to see if the others were interested in hearing this conversation. They were; all of the other nations suddenly calmed down and watched him, apparently expecting a conversation that was going to involve much cursing and insulting. Three signals. Four. Five. Then, finally, someone picked up, and the voice that spoke had a heavy Irish accent.

"You've reached the home of Arthur Kirkland, this is Seamus speaking. If you're a telemarketer, I must ask how the fuck you got this number, and then you have to just fuck off and let me and my brothers drink to our heart's content; if you're no telemarketer, how can I help you?"

He frowned slightly. Nice way to answer the phone...

"Uhm... Seamus? It's Al-.... I mean, it's America."

It got quiet.

"Is Arthur there? I'd like to talk to him."

He heard a voice in the background that hissed something; most likely, Seamus had the speaker unit on as well.

"America..." Seamus' voice was strained and strangely hoarse. "Arthur isn't here..."

"Then where is he? Isn't he in the house? Please, I just want to talk a little to him. If he's the one hissing over your shoulder, then just tell him to talk normally."

"It's not him, kiddo, that's Merfyn... But Arthur really isn't here. He's in the hospital."

For a moment, Alfred sat completely still. Everyone in the room was now staring intently at the loudspeaker.

"The hospital", said Alfred after a short while. "Why is he in the hospital? Alcohol poisoning? I know he drinks a lot around this time of the year, but..."

Another voice sounded, and this one had an accent slightly closer to the normal British one; but it was still something odd about it.

"You shouldn't joke about things like that, boy." The voice spoke very quietly, almost too quietly. "But no, it's not that... It's... _Trwy ras Duw_, I don't know how to explain this to you..."

Alfred glanced around the room; several of the nations were frowning. Others who knew Arthur a little better, such as Francis and Matthew, had looks of genuine concern on their faces.

"Please, will you just tell me what's happened to him?"

Yet another moment of absolute silence. Then, Seamus spoke again.

"He tried to kill himself. He jumped from the roof."

Alfred felt his stomach twist and his eyed widen as the words slowly registered in his head. Arthur had jumped from the roof. Arthur Kirkland had attempted to commit suicide. He looked up, noticing how Francis stared out into nothing while Matthew clung to his arm and apparently tried to keep his tears back. And Alfred felt something sting in his eyes as well.

"He... He did what...?" The words were surprisingly hard to speak.

"He jumped", replied Seamus. "He's in the hospital now; Angus had just arrived here along with us, and he bellowed at us to call an ambulance while he tried to determine how bad the injuries were..."

"A-and how... How bad was it...?"

A voice with a thick Scottish accent bellowed in the background.

"'e landed in th' hospital didn' 'e?! 'ow bad do ye think it was, ya stupid yankee fag?! He ain't even awake yet!"

Alfred felt himself shiver before he replied.

"I'll get there", he said quietly. "I'll come to England as soon as I can."

"An' what makes ye think we'd want ye 'ere?! 's yer fault t' begin with! Yer bloody invitation was on 'is table, an' 'e had been drinkin', ya wanker! What th' 'ell do ye think made 'im _jump_, eh?!"

Merfyn said something apparently very rude in Welsh, making the apparently Scottish man bellow something in return while Seamus sighed deeply.

"Look, lad", he said softly. "I don't know how Arthur would react if he saw you. Or Angus, for that part... he's ready to murder you right now, you know. Or well, he's been ready to do that since little brother returned home after the revolution..."

The American's breath caught in his throat; he had not thought about the revolution for years, he didn't even think of it during his birthday anymore... Was Arthur _still_ caught up on that? He felt that he should be angry for a moment, but the anger that he wanted to force out would not budge. Instead, it seemed to just melt away. Arthur was in the hospital. Arthur had tried to commit suicide, most likely out of depression. All because of the revolution. He glanced around again, this time taking particular notice of the Frenchman's angry glare. Francis might not (ever) be on the best terms with Arthur, but he cared more than one might think about the Brit's health. He stood up.

"I'm coming to England, Seamus", he said sharply. "I want to see him. I don't care if that Scottish bastard wants to kill me; I know I have it coming. But I want to see Arthur, so I don't care what he says."

And with those words he ended the call.

* * *

Alfred went over the events of the last two days over and over again. The phone call to Arthur's house, the conversation with his brothers, the party ending faster than he had expected, looking for a flight to England as fast as possible, arriving at the Heathrow airport in London to be met by Merfyn... The Welshman was different from what he had expected. Judging from the face, the shade of the eyes, the eyebrows, the clothing and the unruly hair, it could've been Arthur. But an Arthur with dyed hair; Merfyn's hair was not that sandy blonde colour, but rather a very dark brown. That, and the necklace with the strange red dragon, gave away that it was not Arthur.

"I hope you haven't been waiting", said Merfyn with a vague smile after introducing himself. "I was a little late; I drove Seamus and Angus to the hospital first. They were a little giddy."

Alfred frowned as he followed the Welshman to his car.

"Why would they be giddy about going to the hospital", he asked. "Arthur tried to commit suicide, that's nothing to be giddy about."

Merfyn smiled at him as he calmly unlocked the doors to the car and climbed into the driver's seat.

"He woke up this morning", he explained when Alfred had finished packing his bags into the back seat and got into the passenger's seat. "And the first thing he said was something in Old English that we had to translate for the doctors." He gave the American a meaning look and laughed. "He was cursing in Old English. That's a good sign. Means his brain works the way it should and is just going through the language-part."

Alfred frowned a little bit; he had never heard Arthur say a single word in Old English, but then again, he would probably not know if he ever heard it anyway... After all, he couldn't even understand a bloody word when Francis spoke his own language, and even less when Matthew began to mix French and English. So how would he ever know when Arthur spoke Old English? He smiled weakly to himself and leaned back a bit as Merfyn made the car pick up some speed and easily manoeuvred through the heavy traffic.

"Merfyn", he said quietly as he looked out through the window. "I... I've been really horrible... Haven't I...? I've been such an ass... And he's just taken it all, throwing a few insults back at me... But he hasn't broken down... He's taken everything I've done; he's accepted it and merely given me advice when he thought it was really needed... He spoke up when he knew I did something wrong, when no one else dared to speak... And yet I've been so..."

He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, but heard no answer. When he opened his eyes after a while and glanced at the other man, he found a pair of brilliant green eyes look back at him, a small smile plastered on the handsome face. There was a gentle, but reprimanding, look in his eyes; much like the one Arthur had at times when Alfred was little.

"Yes, you have", he said bluntly. "You've been, as you say, an ass. But Arthur is strong, stronger than you think. But when it comes to being strong mentally, he's had help with that. Seamus and I have visited him at times, and we've let him rant and let everything out except tears. He can take much, but even Arthur has a border between those feelings that should preferably not be crossed. I think he crossed that himself when he was drinking."

Alfred looked away again, staring out through the window once again. London was such a busy place, even when the personification of England itself was in the hospital. This, if anything, had to be a sign of that said personification was feeling better. Or that nothing ever changed.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital. Merfyn practically dragged Alfred inside, all to hurry him up a little bit. He was eager to see his little brother, and the American was still a bit hesitant. But once inside, they were quickly directed to the room where Arthur was. And on the way, they met a glaring Scotsman.

"So there ye are", grumbled the man. "Took ye long enough, we've waited fer a while. Arthur just woke up, Seamus is in there." He eyed Alfred for a moment, anger evident in his eyes. "Get in there, ya wanker. We told 'im ye were going t' come 'ere, and 'e said 'e was glad."

Clearly still hesitating, the young nation stepped into the room. Pretty much everything in there was white; white walls, white sheets, white window frames, white curtains... And then there was that almost painful contrast between Seamus' red hair and the rest of the room. Slowly, Alfred walked over to the bed, and the man in it immediately turned his familiar green eyes to the young man. A vague smile formed on his face.

"Alfred..." Arthur sounded tired, so very tired... "I didn't think they were serious when they said you'd come here... I mean... Your birthday, and..."

Alfred smiled faintly in response and sat down on the other chair in the room, not once looking away from the Brit.

"You thought I'd worry more about my birthday", he said softly and chuckled. "I'm hurt, Arthur. Of course I'd come to see you, you idiot."

He leaned a little closer and placed his hand over Arthur's. The man felt strangely cold.

"I'm not going anywhere, you know", he said. "Not now. I am going to stay, and I'm going to help you as much as I can. And I just ask one little thing in return." The bedridden Brit frowned slightly. "I want you to explain yourself. What the hell made you do that? Why would you want to die?"

It got quiet; he could feel how Arthur's older brothers stared at him, obviously wondering why the hell he didn't wait with asking that. But Arthur himself looked away with a small smile.

"I guess you do deserve an explanation", he muttered. "I had been drinking, obviously... Well... I thought I had... managed to get over it all... I do still think of it sometimes... A-and I always start to feel angry or hurt... But I've never reacted like this before. I... I was thinking of it that day, I remember, and... I guess the alcohol just made me think of doing something crazy, just because it was about your birthday...You know how I get when I'm drunk, everything I do or say becomes exaggerated, and what I felt was just... blown out of proportion..." Slowly, the emerald eyes turned back and looked at the American. "I was angry. I was sad. I was hurt. And... I remember that I decided to give you a birthday to... remember."

Alfred's breath caught in his throat for a moment and he frowned; a birthday to remember? Oh, goddamnit... It had already been a birthday to remember thanks to this idiotic event, all thanks to what Arthur had done.

"You're a goddamn moron", he said calmly, making Arthur blink. "Yes, you _did_ give me a birthday to remember. And I'll remember it for the rest of my life because of a phone call where I found out you were in the fucking _hospital_ because you tried to _kill_ yourself!"

He managed to stop himself before he started shouting, but Arthur was already looking down on the sheets with shame written on his face and tears forming in his eyes. Immediately, Angus walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, gently pulling his little brother into a warm embrace.

"Ye damn idiot", he growled and glared at Alfred. "Do ye think that'll make 'im feel better 'bout this? If ye say somethin' like that once more, I swear I'll punch ye so hard that whatever bitch it was that spawned you will feel it and turn in 'er grave!"

Immediately, Arthur's head snapped up. His eyes were wide open, and he clutched at his brother's shirt.

"Angus, don't", he begged. "Please, _Alba_, don't hurt him! He's right, after all, so don't hurt him, please!"

Alfred blinked in surprise when he noticed that the Scotsman's gaze suddenly softened a little; he didn't seem aggressive anymore, and if he had been about to punch the American he would most likely have stopped just before his fist connected with the younger man's face. Just the way Seamus had.

"Wh-what does that mean", he asked, a little nervous since he had started to understand that Angus would most likely get aggressive and violent if Arthur was feeling hurt; which he apparently was. "What does _Alba_ mean", he said when the older of the two brothers raised an eyebrow. "I... I don't understand."

Seamus placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder and smiled faintly.

"It's Gaelic", he said, and then sighed as he only got a confused look as an answer. "Gaelic is a language that Angus and I share, but we have different "versions" of it. _Alba_ is the Gaelic word for Scotland." The Irishman looked at Angus with a vague smile. "Come on now, Angus; let's just leave them alone for a while. I might be a moron in your eyes, but anyone can see that they need some time."

Angus reluctantly let go of Arthur and followed his brothers out. Alfred looked after them for a moment before looking back at Arthur, meeting his gaze. The American could recall the few things that Arthur had ever told him about his older brothers, and it had never been anything good. According to the Brit, Seamus was a shameless drunkard, Angus was a murderous berserker who'd stop at nothing to get what he wanted and Merfyn was just plainly a bit weird. In fact, he had never been too harsh on Merfyn, most likely because while their past was a little clouded (Arthur's own words), they had always been a bit closer. But now, these brothers were suddenly very protective when it came to their little "baby".

"They care a lot, don't they...?" It was a lame question, and he knew it.

But Arthur merely smiled in response and nodded.

"They do", he said quietly. "Although they don't like to admit it. But whenever I've truly needed help, they've been there... Angus is harder to get to, but Seamus and Merfyn are ready to give me a little help."

Alfred chuckled quietly and leaned back.

"So", he said, trying to think of something to change the subject. "Uhm... When did you learn... Gelick, or whatever Seamus called it...?"

Arthur shook his head slowly.

"Gaelic", he said slowly. "It's called _Gaelic_, you git. Seamus and Angus taught me a little bit when I was younger." His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "No, that's not right... Seamus taught me. I picked up bits from Angus when he was on a rampage and slipped into that language." A chuckle escaped his lips, and he looked up at Alfred with twinkling eyes. "You should have seen Seamus' face when he realised that I had taught myself to curse in Gaelic, all thanks to Angus... He was so angry, he was yelling about it for hours before he decided to teach me properly. But we didn't get that far, I'm afraid."

"Merfyn said you were cursing in Old English when you woke up...?"

"Oh... That..." An embarrassed look spread on his face. "Well... It _is_ my old language, and I rather like it... I made sure to never forget it, and sometimes I just... slip back into old habits."

Alfred smiled softly. It seemed that Arthur was much less shaken by this than he was, which he decided to take as a good sign. The Brit was relaxed and spoke calmly; he seemed very aware of that he had really worried Alfred, and he apparently didn't want to yell or insult the younger nation and make his own condition worse. And after talking for a while, Alfred calmly leaned in and gave Arthur a gentle hug.

"You scared me", he said earnestly. "You really scared me. I really thought you were going to die..."

Arthur closed his eyes and smiled softly, gently trailing his fingers through the young man's golden hair.

"As if I'd die before you", he teased. "You may be younger, but I'm strong and stubborn, you brat." He leaned his head against Alfred's shoulder. "It was close, though. I thought I was going to die... I wasn't completely out of it; I knew what was happening around me... And I... I thought about you. I didn't want to leave you like this. There was so much I wanted to say, and I just... I couldn't. I couldn't die and leave _Iarfhlaith_, I couldn't leave the lord of the west all alone..."

For a moment, Alfred was certain that his old protector was joking; but when he carefully pulled back and made Arthur look at him, he couldn't see any indication to it in the man's eyes. A vague smile on his lips, Arthur looked back into the younger man's sky blue eyes, apparently waiting for some sort of a reaction. And after a few minutes, he got one.

"I'm taking care of you once they let you out of this place, you know", muttered Alfred as a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. "Somehow, I don't trust your brothers enough to do that, so I'm going to stay with you and make sure that you recover properly."

Emerald eyes glittered and laughed.

"I think I'd like that, Alfred. Yes, I'd like that very much."

* * *

Almost a year had gone since the day Alfred visited Arthur in the hospital; despite a small scar on his arm, the Brit had nothing that indicated that the event had ever taken place. Nothing except a new cell phone that Alfred had bought for him two days after he was released from the hospital in order to keep in touch with him properly. And the git made sure to call as often as he could, even waking Arthur up in the middle of the night sometimes. At other times, such as this one, Arthur would be standing in the garden outside his house and admire the roses when suddenly _God Save The Queen_ chimed from his pocket. A text message. Quickly, he picked the phone up, opened the message and read through it.

_My birthday's coming up, Iggy! :D Get me something nice, k? Yes, you have to come here this year, or I'm going to be sad :(_

Arthur held back a smirk and muttered "bloody git" to himself when he wrote a reply.

_First of all, the word is "okay", it's not a single letter, you git. Second... I'll consider it. But don't count on anything._

He actually managed to get back inside and start to make some tea before the phone chimed again. And this message did make him smile.

_Yay! :D Iggy loves me, he really really loves me! xD I'm gonna go and buy some tea or something now, would drag you along if you weren't on the other side of Da Pond. I never know what you'd like anyway. Heh, stupid Iggy. Making me do stuff. :P Call me? :D Just wanna talk a bit, 's been a while._

"Idiot", muttered Arthur and chuckled. "You called me at 2 am; it hasn't been _that_ long..."

_I'll call you in a while, okay? I'm trying to relax a little bit right now, I want to get comfortable._

A while later, he sat comfortably curled up in the sofa with a cup of tea on the table next to him and a good book in his lap. He thought about calling Alfred for a while, but he didn't cave in to that nagging little thought until after at least twenty minutes, so he picked up the phone and dialled the number. Almost immediately, he heard an ear-splitting racket in the background as Alfred's voice more or less shouted in his ear.

"Hey, Iggy! Nice of you to call!"

Arthur huffed.

"What the hell is going on, Alfred? What is that racket?!"

"Oh, I'm at the supermarket. Lots of people here, you know, and some kids are wailing about something. By the way, I could only find some Earl Grey, is that alright?"

"Alfred, you can leave that." Arthur's protest was only half-hearted, but he made an effort. "It's probably not even real Earl Grey, you know that. I'll just bring something myself, or you'll just be wasting money on something you'll forget about later."

The younger man's laughter rang in his ear.

"Eeh? You mean you're not staying for a while after my birthday? I'm hurt, Iggy, I'm going to need help to clean up! And Mattie said he couldn't stay, so I counted on you!"

"Git, I know when you're lying to me. I won't give you a present if you keep that up."

The faked threat seemed to work, because Alfred began to protest loudly and apologise. But Arthur just chuckled, and if the boy had been there, he would most likely have patted his head.

"You're an idiot, Alfred", he said fondly. "Yes, I'll be staying, if it's alright with you."

"Yaay~!" He could actually _hear_ that the brat was grinning triumphantly. "Iggy really loves me", the American sang through his laughter. "Only thing left is to get rid of all that sexual tension."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and sipped at his tea.

"You've been hanging with Francis", he muttered. "He's the only one who'd mention my name and "sexual tension" in the same sentence."

"Well, perhaps I can help", purred Alfred into the phone, making Arthur stutter and blush. "I mean, I wouldn't mind..."

"Oh, _póg mo thóin_, you idiot yankee!"

"... What does that mean?"

"It means 'kiss my ass'. It's Gaelic."

"I'd do it, but you're pretty far away." Arthur could swear that Alfred was wiggling his eyebrows. "By the way, I spoke to Seamus the other day. Met him on the street. He taught me a little phrase I wanted to check with you, you know, just to see if I'm saying it right."

Arthur frowned slightly and put down his teacup.

"Okay", he muttered. "Say it."

"_Tá grá agam duit_", said Alfred slowly and quietly. "_Mo mhúirnín bán_..."

Arthur felt the blush creep over his face, but a fond smile spread on his lips as the words registered in his mind and he translated them to himself. "I love you, my fair darling."

"Stupid _Iarfhlaith_", he whispered. "_Tá grá agam duit_. Now say it again, I won't let you hang up until you say it right."

He could forget the revolution now. Because in truth, Alfred had never really left, and Arthur had never been forced to give up the name of _Iarfhlaith_; he had merely passed it on to the person he thought most suitable, most worthy of the name.

* * *

_**Reviews? :D Pretty please? With sugar and cream and a cherry on top? Served by Sexy Waiter!Arthur?**_


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